Infinitely Losing My Edge
Yeah, I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
The kids are coming up from behind.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids from Bulgaria and from Toronto.
But I was there.
I was there in 1976.
I was there at the first Buzzcocks show in Bolton.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge to the kids whose footsteps I hear when they get on the decks.
I'm losing my edge to the internet seekers who can tell me every member of every good group from 1966 to 1971.
I'm losing my edge.
To all the kids in Sao Paulo and Taipei.
I'm losing my edge to the art-school Accra kids in little jackets and borrowed nostalgia for the unremembered nineties.
I'm losing my edge.
I'm losing my edge.
I can hear the footsteps every night on the decks.
But I was there.
I was there in 1971 at the first Selda practice in a loft in Istanbul.
I was working on the spring reverb sounds with much patience.
I was there when Michael McDonald started up his first band.
I told him, "Don't do it that way. You'll never make a dime."
I was there.
I was the first guy playing Kenny Larkin to the crunk kids.
I played it at the Troubador.
Everybody thought I was crazy.
We all know.
I was there.
I was there.
I've never been wrong.
But I'm losing my edge to better-looking people with better ideas and more talent.
And they're actually really, really nice.
I'm losing my edge.
I heard you have a compilation of every good song ever done by anybody.
Every great song by The Cure. All the underground hits.
All The Mummies tracks. I heard you have a vinyl of every Crash Course in Science record on German import.
I heard that you have a white label of every seminal crunk hit - 1985, '86, '87.
I heard that you have a CD compilation of every good '50s cut and another box set from the '80s.
I hear you're buying a clarinet and a snare and are throwing your macbook out the window because you want to make something real. You want to make a Gang Gang Dance record.
I hear that you and your band have sold your rhodes and bought an organ.
I hear that you and your band have sold your organ and bought a rhodes.
I hear everybody that you know is more relevant than everybody that I know.
But have you seen my records?
Henry Cow,
The Cowsills,
Graham Central Station,
Avey Tare's Slasher Flicks,
Yellowson,
Clear Light,
Faust,
Notorious BIG live in Amsterdam,
48th St. Collective,
Oneida,
Outsiders,
Minutemen,
Donny Hathaway,
Selector Dub Narcotic,
Lee Hazlewood,
Ponytail,
Wolf Eyes,
The Mojo Men,
Pylon,
Grey Daturas,
Pantytec,
Heaven 17,
Thinking Fellers Union Local 282,
Dennis Brown,
The Monks,
One Last Wish,
Agitation Free,
The Black Dice,
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark,
Nils Olav,
The New Christs,
Parry Music,
Con Funk Shun,
Livin' Joy,
DJ Style,
The Cure,
The Skatalites,
Mission of Burma,
Harry Pussy,
Cybotron,
Aaron Thompson,
Can,
Joe Smooth,
Fela Kuti,
Cecil Taylor,
Chrome,
Archie Shepp,
8 Eyed Spy,
The Searchers,
Ituana,
Gil Scott-Heron & Brian Jackson,
The Fire Engines,
Talk Talk,
Lonnie Liston Smith,
Grauzone,
Stetsasonic,
The Toasters,
The Fortunes,
Stereo Dub,
The Velvet Underground,
Neil Young & Crazy Horse,
The Gladiators, The Gladiators, The Gladiators, The Gladiators.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.
You don't know what you really want.